The Poor Co-Pilot
by Colonel Arbuckle
Summary: Alvin and Simon's relationship as examined through the lyrics of the folk song "The Poor Co-Pilot." Songfic. Oneshot.


**The Poor Co-Pilot**

 **Author's Note: This is a songfic based on the folk song, The Poor Co-Pilot, as performed by the U.S. Air Force Band. I was listening to it the other day and I was struck by how similar Alvin and Simon's relationship is to the relationship between the co-pilot and his captain in the song. So I produced this little scenario, in which Alvin, Simon, and Theodore are all B-52 pilots assigned to the 23d Bomb Squadron at Minot AFB, ND. This is written from Simon's point of view and is based on the '80s cartoon. You can find the song on Spotify under the title The Poor Co-Pilot, the artist US Air Force Band, and the album The United States Air Force Fortieth Anniversary. The song is 1:29 long. You can also find it on Youtube. Song lyrics will be italicized. Some of the terms used will be unfamiliar to the non-pilots/non-service members in the audience, so I have provided in text explanations of these terms. These explanations are bracketed and in bold text. I do not own Alvin and the Chipmunks. Enjoy!**

 **Present Day:** I can't believe this! How did I get stuck flying with THIS guy?! This is cruel and unusual punishment! Oh, forgive me, I guess I'm getting a little ahead of myself. I suppose I should give you a little background first. When I built that time machine at eight years of age, there was no way I could have predicted that this is where I'd find myself in 2010: sitting in the co-pilot seat of a B-52 as the aircraft commander taxis it out to the runway **[When an aircraft "taxis," that means it is moving while on the ground.]**.

 **Flashbacks:** Of course, there was no way ANYONE could have predicted the one singular variable that had so dramatically altered the course of my and my brothers' lives: the terror attacks in New York and D.C. on the 11th of September of our senior year of high school. The attacks affected all of us deeply, but they really took their toll on my older brother, shaking him to the core. For the first time in his life he questioned what he really wanted out of life and whether he was really making a difference. I can still remember how for weeks after the attacks, all Alvin could talk about was his newfound desire to enlist in the military and kill terrorists, but Dave had insisted that all three of his boys attend college before starting our lives. Alvin had been furious at first, but a couple of months after the attacks, at a College Day event at school, he had a long conversation with an Air Force ROTC recruiter that would change our lives forever **[Air Force ROTC, also abbreviated AFROTC, stands for Air Force Reserve Officer Training Corps and is a program by which students can attend college classes and at the same time learn how to be an Air Force officer, with the end goal of receiving a commission as an Air Force Second Lieutenant upon receiving their bachelor's degree.]**. In hindsight, I suppose it makes sense that he was drawn to the Air Force recruiter as opposed to the other branches. Ever since we were kids we had always said that if we couldn't be musicians, we would want to be pilots. When he came home from school that day, he couldn't stop going on and on to Dave about how AFROTC would let him go to college and get his degree like Dave wanted, while at the same time train him to enter the military and lead America's finest upon graduation. Dave was very supportive of the idea. I think he was counting on the Air Force drilling some badly needed discipline into Alvin, and I can't say I blame him. Theodore and I were supportive of his plans as well, but then the other shoe dropped: Alvin wanted us to do AFROTC with him! I couldn't believe my ears when he said that. Of course I loved my country, but the idea of military service had never crossed my mind. I didn't have a military bone in my body at that time in my life and I couldn't believe Alvin was so dense as to think that I did. Needless to say, I was very skeptical of joining AFROTC at first, but we all know that when Alvin gets an idea in his head, there's no stopping him. Alvin had insisted he wouldn't make it through the program without his smarter brother at his side, helping him through it. After all, despite his newfound devotion to the defense of freedom, he was still Alvin Seville, and academics were not one of his strengths. And so it was that Theodore and I got swept up into another one of Alvin's crazy plans, went off to college, and joined Air Force ROTC. The first month or two was a bit of a culture shock, but my early skepticism soon grew into a fondness for the AFROTC lifestyle. I felt at home in the structured environment. And the in-college AFROTC scholarship that my aerospace engineering degree and good grades earned me didn't hurt either. The three of us excelled in AFROTC, graduating at the top of our flights at field training, earning pilot slots, and to cap it all off, we asked the Chipettes to marry us in a triple proposal at our May 2006 commissioning ceremony **[A flight is a type of unit in the Air Force, and is roughly between an Army platoon and company in size. Field training is a twenty to thirty day training course that all AFROTC cadets must take between their sophomore and junior years of college. It is essentially a boot camp for officers.]**. After graduation and commissioning, the three of us shipped out to Columbus AFB, MS to attend UPT **[UPT stands for Undergraduate Pilot Training. It typically takes about a year to produce an Air Force pilot from scratch.]**. Alvin quickly proved himself to be a darn good stick **[When someone says that a pilot is a "good stick," they mean that he is a good pilot with good stick and rudder flying ability and a natural feel for the aircraft. The term comes from the common method of controlling the roll of the aircraft and the up or down pitch of the nose of the aircraft in the early days of aviation, which was a control stick that came up through the floor of the cockpit in between the pilot's legs.]**. He graduated at the top of our class and could have gotten fighters if he wanted them, but he wanted to focus solely on killing terrorists and not have to deal with learning air to air combat. So like Theodore and I, Alvin requested and got B-52s. After graduating UPT, we spent a few months at the B-52 schoolhouse at Barksdale AFB, LA to transition to the new airframe before returning home for a few weeks during which time we married the Chipettes at our home church. After our honeymoons, the six of us headed north, far north, to our first operational assignment: the 23d Bomb Squadron at Minot AFB, ND. It's unusual for the military to assign family members to the same unit and base, but I think we were the exception because of our past history as a well-known music group. All throughout this time, even though we were no longer professional musicians, we still enjoyed singing and playing together in our spare time, singing in our church choir, and doing the odd performance at the Officer's Club on base or some other venue in town. The Air Force picked up on this, and used it as a PR tool. I mean think about it: the last time celebrities gave up their career to join the military was Ted Williams and Elvis Presley back in the '50s. We didn't mind though. We were happy to serve our country in any way we could. So we relished the occasional request from Air Force Public Affairs to do a performance. And so our lives were filled with our wives, flying, and singing, three things we absolutely adored. Yes, I had to hand it to Alvin, this was one of his few plans that had actually worked out well for everyone involved.

Until a year ago that is. We had been on active duty for about three years by that point and were still stationed at Minot. Alvin had just returned from aircraft commander school **[In military airplanes that require two pilots, all pilots who are new to the airplane start out in the right seat as co-pilots. When the military thinks they are ready, they are sent to aircraft commander school, or AC school, to learn how to fly the airplane from the left seat and command a crew. The AC school for each type of airplane is typically at the same base as the schoolhouse for that airplane. In the case of the B-52, it's Barksdale AFB, Louisiana.]**. It's unusual for a First Lieutenant to attend AC school, but like I said earlier, Alvin is an incredibly good stick. Of course, with a new aircraft commander in the squadron, some of the crews had to be shifted around. And guess what young company grade chipmunk drew the short end of the stick **["Company grade chipmunk" is a play on words of the real world term "company grade officer." In the Air Force, someone is considered a company grade officer if they hold the rank of Second Lieutenant, First Lieutenant, or Captain.]**. That's right, 1st Lt Simon Seville, that's who.

 **Present Day:** I look to my left at the aircraft commander in the seat next to me as we hold short of the active, waiting for another '52 on final to land **["Holding short of the active" means that an airplane is sitting on the taxiway next to the active runway (the runway currently in use) while waiting for clearance to taxi onto the runway and take off. When someone says a plane is "on final," they mean that it is in the final stages of its approach to land.]**. The olive drab flight suit and David Clark headset make him look like any other aircraft commander in the squadron, but the one thing that sets him apart is that red baseball hat. Yes, he still wears that stupid hat. Of course, it's against regulations to wear it with the uniform, so he never wears it around the squadron, but he always keeps it in his flight bag and after boarding the jet, he slips it on underneath his headset. Who's going to tell him to take it off? A lowly co-pilot? Yeah, right. On these jets, the aircraft commander is king. And there's no mistaking that Captain Alvin Seville is king of this bird.

I just can't believe I got stuck with HIM! How did Theodore get assigned to fly with the squadron chief pilot and I get stuck with him?! The squadron chief of current ops must hate me, that's got to be it. Nobody should have to fly with this guy. Okay, maybe I'm overreacting a little. Maybe it's just that brothers naturally annoy each other. And maybe the last year of my life has been a royal pain that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. And it's not just in the cockpit either. Because we're all on the same crew together, our families often spend a lot of off duty time together. You might think that's a good thing, but I'll just say this about it: I love my sister-in-law to death, but if I hear Brittany scream that infamous, time-worn phrase, "My husband's a pilot!" one more time at some poor soul to get her way, I'll go crazy **[Because it is pilots who hold most of the high ranking positions within the Air Force and the mission of the Air Force is largely centered around pilots being able to do their job, wives of Air Force pilots are sometimes stereotyped as abusing the prestige of their husbands position to get their way with other people who work on base.]**.

But it's almost over. Thank God, it's almost over. The three of us just pinned on Captain a few weeks ago and this will be my last flight with the menace before I head out for aircraft commander school myself. The whole situation reminds me of that little ditty we learned back at the B-52 schoolhouse. Come fly with us and I'll show you what I mean.

 _Oh, I'm the co-pilot, I sit on the right_

 _I'm quick and courageous, I'm wonderf'ly bright_

 _My job is rememb'ring what the Captain forgets_

 _I never talk back, so I have no regrets._

 _(I'm just a co-pilot and a long way from home.)_

So like I said a minute ago, we're holding short of the active at Minot. The landing B-52 just passed in front of us, its drag chute billowing in the slipstream. As they clear the runway, I reach for the push-to-talk button on the yoke to ask the tower for takeoff clearance **[The yoke is the more modern replacement for the control stick I mentioned earlier. In very crude terms, it serves as the steering wheel for the aircraft.]**. However, before I can do so, I feel us starting to roll forward toward the runway!

"Sir, we don't have clearance yet!" I remind him as urgently but respectfully as possible. His feet slam on the toe brakes at the top of the rudder pedals, bringing the lumbering eight engine bomber to a halt. **[While the yoke controls the roll and pitch of the aircraft, the rudder pedals control the side to side movement of the aircraft. So for instance, when you step on the right rudder pedal, the plane turns to the right. Most rudder pedals are configured so that if you push on the top of both of them while you are on the ground, you are applying the brakes.]**

"Right," he responds, annoyed at having forgotten something so routine. "Well, go ahead, ask."

I hold in the sarcastic comment forming in my mind as I call the tower. My smart aleck personality got me in trouble once in AFROTC. I didn't make that mistake again.

 _I make out the flight plan and study the weather_

 _I pull up the gear and I stand by to feather_

 _I clean out his mailbox and file his reports_

 _And fly the old crate to the tune of his snores._

 _(I'm just a co-pilot and a long way from home.)_

We've taken off now and headed south to our training range at a cruising altitude of 32,000 feet. Alvin is flying the airplane for this leg of the flight.

"You have a copy of the flight plan?" he asks as we reach our cruising altitude.

"Right here," I respond as I hand him the handwritten copy I put together last night.

"Thanks," he replies. He studies it briefly before tuning the radio to our next frequency. "I appreciate you taking care of this last night, Si. I know it was last minute, but I just had too much other paperwork to take care of. You understand, right?"

"Oh, sure, sure," I smile and nod politely. He hasn't filed one flight plan since I started flying with him. He always says he'll get the next flight, but he always comes up with some excuse.

"Can you do me another huge favor?" he asks. "I have a meeting with Major Craschcup not long after we're supposed to get back to Minot. Can you fill out my AFORMS for me?" **[AFORMS stands for Air Force Operations Resource Management System. It is the system by which the Air Force keeps track of how many flying hours their pilots have and whether those flying hours are as Pilot in Command (PIC) or Second in Command (SIC), among other things. It must be updated after every flight.]**

I sigh internally before responding, "Sure." I should list him as getting only SIC time for this flight. He does this all the time. Are you starting to catch my drift now?

 _I take all the readings and check on the power_

 _I turn on the heaters when we're in a shower_

 _I hustle him out for the midnight alarm_

 _I fly through the fog while he sleeps on my arm._

 _(I'm just a co-pilot and a long way from home.)_

I can't believe I'm related to this guy! We've reached our training range and descended down to 100 feet to practice low level penetration for nuclear strikes. I'm flying the airplane for this leg of the flight. I look over at Alvin and he's fast asleep! We're screaming along at 500 knots 100 feet off the deck and he's taking a freaking nap!

"Bombs away!" the radar navigator calls over the intercom as a dummy bomb in the shape of a nuclear weapon falls from our bomb bay to the ground below. Right in the pickle barrel, as they used to say **[During World War II, the Army Air Forces introduced the brand new Norden bomb sight. People claimed that it was so accurate that an airplane using it could drop a bomb and make it land in an object the size of a pickle barrel from 30,000 feet. These claims were greatly exaggerated.]**. No thanks to our aircraft commander.

 _I treat him to coffee, I buy him his Cokes_

 _I laugh at his corn and his horrible jokes_

 _And once in a while when his landings are rusty_

 _I come through with "Yes sir, sure is gusty!"_

 _(I'm just a co-pilot and a long way from home.)_

We've completed our training mission and are now on final approach into Minot. I'm flying the airplane for this, my final landing as a co-pilot. The approach is going nicely. It's a sunny day without a cloud in the sky, so there's no need to shoot an instrument approach **[An instrument approach is conducted, or "shot," when the weather prevents the pilots from seeing the runway when they are trying to land.]**. We've just crossed the runway threshold and I'm concentrating really hard on making my final landing as a co-pilot a real greaser **[The runway threshold is simply one end of the runway. When someone makes a very good landing, it is considered a "greaser."]**. But the events of the next thirty seconds dash those plans. Suddenly, a huge gust of wind slams the jet from the right! It picks up the right wing and sends us into a steep bank. Our left wingtip almost scrapes the ground!

"Woah!" I exclaim as I give it full right rudder and full right aileron in an attempt to right the bomber.

"Ihavetheairplane!" Alvin screams, his words running together as he grabs the yoke and power levers.

"Roger, you have the airplane!" I reply, releasing my hands from the yoke and my feet from the rudder pedals **[When control of the aircraft is transferred from one pilot to the other pilot, one of the pilots will say, "I (You) have the airplane". The other pilot will then respond, "Roger, you (I) have the airplane," in order to confirm that the transfer of control has been made. Then, in order to absolutely without a doubt confirm the transfer has been made, the first pilot will then say, "Roger, I (You) have the airplane." Alvin did not say the third line in this particular exchange simply because he is too focused on the recovery of the aircraft.]**. Alvin slams the power levers forward and maintains full right rudder and aileron as he begins to execute a missed approach. The eight jet engines claw at the air as we gain altitude to go around and make another attempt. Once it is obvious that we are out of danger, I turn to Alvin.

"Nasty crosswind today, huh sir?" I comment nervously.

"You're not kidding. That gust just came out of nowhere!" he replies. Thank God he doesn't blame me.

"Why'd you decide to go around instead of salvaging the landing?" I ask him.

"The only way to recover from a sudden upset like that is to increase power to get more airflow over the wings so the control surfaces are more responsive. Once you've done that, you've chewed up too much runway to try and put it down, so you're forced to go around. If you try to recover without adding power, you're just going to ride the bird into the ground," he expertly responds. My lack of experience is glaringly obvious. We would all be dead if he hadn't taken control.

"Oh," I sheepishly reply.

Alvin guides the jet back around and completes the landing, albeit with a significant crab this time **[When the wind is blowing across a pilot's desired route of flight, the pilot will turn the plane slightly into the wind so that the plane will track in the direction he wants it to go. This is called a "crab" because the airplane is flying partially sideways. The B-52 is unique in that its landing gear is designed so that it can land with the crab intact, as opposed to most other aircraft that have to straighten out at the last minute.]**. As we continue the rollout, he hands control back over to me to taxi back to the ramp **[The rollout is the period after the plane touches down and is slowing down on the runway. The "ramp," or "flightline," is the location on the airport where the planes are parked. It is often incorrectly referred to as the "tarmac."]**.

"You have the airplane," he says.

"Roger, I have the airplane," I reply.

"Roger, you have the airplane," he confirms. You know, maybe I could learn a few things from Alvin. He certainly knows his stuff when it comes to his job. Maybe I'm just blowing the annoying things that he does out of proportion. Maybe he's not such a bad guy after all. Maybe he can change.

"Hey, Si, can you loan me a dollar so I can get a Coke from the snack bar?" Alvin suddenly asks. "I don't have any cash on me today. I'll pay you back, I promise."

I grip the yoke as hard as I can, trying desperately to prevent myself from lashing out at him. And then again, some things never change.

 **Author's Note: Well, that's it. I hope y'all liked it! I hope I didn't insult anyone's intelligence with the in-text explanations, but I figured I'd rather be safe than sorry. Conversely, if one of the explanations wasn't good enough to help you understand what was happening, please ask me about it and I'd be happy to answer your question. Don't forget to review!**


End file.
